


Five Times It Was Too Much, and One Time It Wasn't Enough

by wordonawing



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Haphephobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, hand holding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordonawing/pseuds/wordonawing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>haph·e·pho·bia [haf″e-fo´be-ah], n</p><p>the fear of being touched, often stemming from childhood trauma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I have no experience whatsoever with this condition, so please forgive me and feel free to correct anything I get wrong.  
> This has been beta'd by the extraordinarily beautiful Bowowza. We hope you enjoy.

Everything is going swimmingly, until it happens. Q's halfway through his first day at MI6, and despite a few of his elders (but most decidedly not betters) grumbling about taking orders from a "spotty teenager", it couldn't be going better.

That is, until Tanner comes over to congratulate him and gives him a friendly pat on the back.

Q feels himself begin to react, can almost see the jump the electrical signal in his brain makes from _touch_ to _fear_ , but it's like he's watching himself on a TV screen: he is powerless to stop.

And so he flinches away, retracting into himself like a hedgehog, and everyone's staring at him and Tanner's stumbling over his tongue in his hurry to apologise _-_ _terribly sorry Q - my fault completely - should have realised_ _-_ and Q's trying to tell him that it's fine, that he's fine, but his hands are shaking and his heart is pounding and the room's spinning like a carousel and he puts a hand on his desk to steady himself and then.

He wakes up in a bony metal bed in the sterile white of the infirmary, with M on one side and the psychologist on the other. His mind is still woozy, but he's clear-headed enough that he can sort of make out the words M is pushing into his ears, the psychologist nodding gravely all the while.

"And you will _say_ if you're uncomfortable, or if someone's getting too close to you, won't you." It isn't a question. "The last thing we need is the Quartermaster fainting in the middle of hacking into Al-Qaeda or something."

Q nods and shakes his head in the appropriate places, and reassures everyone that he's fine until his voice is nearly gone, and finally, finally, they leave him alone to Get Some Rest.

It's only later, in the thick dark of the summer night, that he turns his face to his thin pillow and begins, quietly, to cry.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have realised, I have changed this scene somewhat. As you may have also realised, this story is AU. Funny how that happens.
> 
> As always, enormous thanks to Bowowza. I mouse you (even if you think I'm annoying. You're not exactly a saint yourself, y'know).

"Q."

Bond puts out his hand, but the kid surprises him by refusing to take it.

"Double-oh-seven," he says curtly, and picks up the iron-grey case sitting quietly on the bench beside him. Odd, Bond thinks to himself. You'd think the boy's parents would at least have taught him some basic manners. He would expect this sort of behaviour from an American, but certainly not an Englishman.

Q's looking at him a bit strangely (if he didn't know better he'd think he sees fear staining the deep green of his eyes), so Bond clears his throat and says, "So, what've you got for me this time?"

Q hands him the case (with his fingers, Bond notes, on the very edge of it, so there is no way their hands could touch accidentally) and goes into his little spiel, and by the time he's got up to go Bond's so distracted by the view that the handshake has completely slipped his mind, along with most other things.

It's only later, when Tanner's giving him a tour round the new digs, that he notices the small area of negative space around Q at all times, like a chalk circle on the playground. No one ever breaches the circle; at first, Bond presumes that it's a sign of respect, but then he sees Tanner remaining pointedly outside it, and even M. Those two maintain masks of cool efficiency, but the interns haven't learnt to hide their emotions yet, and their faces are always a mixture of concentration and nervousness, like they're talking to a frightened animal that could bolt at any minute.

Bond notices all of this, because it's his job to watch people, but he doesn't come into direct contact with it until after Skyfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to all the lovely people who commented and kudos'd; it was much appreciated. Next chappie's already basically finished, so it should be up within the next few days. Until then, if you have any feedback, queries or suggestions, comment away. (Please. It makes me insanely happy.)


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bowowza wanted me to rant about tourists on the Tube. I wanted to rant about how bloody hot it is on the Tube. Q wanted to rant about people getting too close on the Tube. We compromised. (Bloody tourists on the tube.)

 

There are several reasons why Q doesn't take the tube at rush hour.

 

One, it gets unbelievably crowded ( _WHY ARE YOU FUCKING GETTING ON CAN'T YOU SEE THERE'S NO FUCKING SPACE ON THE FUCKING TRAIN_ ), which has its own repercussions, aside from the obvious. He doesn't want a repeat of that time he had to spend the entire journey as far as was physically possible away from the other commuters. He suspects he might've given that elderly lady a heart attack; the old dear probably wasn't used to seeing a young man's face pressed up against the window of the oncoming train locked in what can only be described as a death mask.

 

Two, he normally gets cold very quickly, hence all the layers, but his own personal laws of thermodynamics seem to do a complete U-turn the second he makes the small step (more like giant leap) from the edge of the platform to the grey speckled floor of the train. His coat-cardigan-and-vest combination suddenly becomes extremely hot, and he finds a thick band of sweat begins to form around the nape of his neck. His face starts burning, and his hair becomes even more untidy - he knows because tube seats have an annoying habit of being situated exactly opposite reflective pieces of glass. All in all, a rather embarrassing experience.

 

Three, like most Londoners, Q is endlessly exasperated by tourists.

 

The countless photographs and blatant vandalism of the English language aside, the thing he finds most aggravating is that, prior to their trip, they seem to have conducted no research at all regarding the London Underground. You'd think they could at least be bothered to pick up a tube map at one of the stations. But no. They insist on bothering the poor people of London, who just want to get to work and start hacking into the White House without being harrassed by some ignorant foreigner who can't even be bothered to look up their query in their enormous guide book. " _Excuse me meestah, so sorry to bothah you, I wondah, can you tell me tha way to Bucking-ham Palace?_ "

 

It is for these reasons (among others) that Q catches the 05:36 to Vauxhall every morning, picking up The Times and a cardboard cup of Earl Grey on the way, and leaves MI6 on the dot of nine o'clock (unless there's an Important Meeting later on in the day, in which case M organises a driver for him). As most of London's workforce is normally sleeping like the dead at this time, he can get on with reading his paper in peace.

 

Well, most of the time.

 

Q spots the man as soon as he gets on. He's nothing to write home about - mousy hair, dull eyes, and the huge camera of a tourist swinging from his neck. Normally Q wouldn't give him a second thought, except maybe one of mild disdain, but the man looks around, takes in the completely empty carriage, and then very deliberately comes and sits right next to Q.

 

With his sleeve ever so slightly brushing against Q's arm.

 

Q sighs, then tangles his fingers together to stop them trembling.

 

Keep breathing, he reminds himself. Just keep breathing. He'll probably go away soon.

 

He doesn't.

 

They sit there in silence for a while, Q getting more and more agitated, until finally the tourist opens his mouth to speak and Q does the only thing he can think of.

 

He snatches his Taser out of his pocket and zaps the man.

 

* * *

 

"It was self-defence," he mutters petulantly later. M raises a withering eyebrow.

 

"I hardly think the police will see it that way."

 

Q risks a glance upwards, and quickly returns his gaze to his shoelaces, swallowing loudly.

 

"Sorry, M."

 

M sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's fine, we'll sort it out. But really, Q, you can't just go Tasering someone because they made you uncomfortable. That's the sort of behaviour I expect from one of the double-ohs, not you."

 

Q mumbles a few more apologies, and eventually M lets him go, after giving him her patented A-Little-Disappointed-And-A-Lot-Pissed-Off Stare. He scurries back to Q-Branch with his metaphorical tail between his legs.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late. Again. Sorry.  
> As always, a multitude of thanks to Bowowza.

"...hatch is buggered so we'll have to drop you in from the roof, which shouldn't be too - Bond? Bond. Bond."

Bond's gaze slowly refocuses on Q's fingers clicking in front of his face, and he plummets back down to earth with a jolt.

"Yes, Q?"

Q sighs and takes his glasses off, rubbing the red marks they leave on either side of his nose. "Do you think you could possibly pay attention to what I am telling you? It could, and most likely will, save your life, you know."

Bond smirks and places his hands on the desk between them, ignoring one of the interns' muffled squeak at his fingerprints smudging the glass. "What makes you think I wasn't paying attention?"

Q replaces his glasses and gives Bond a withering glare. M must've taught him that, Bond thinks. "Tell me what I just told you, then."

Bond contemplates telling Q that he was focused on him, specifically a particular part of him, just to see the blush bloom across his cheeks like blood across snow. Instead, he opens his mouth and proceeds to recite all of Q's instructions, word-perfect and with exactly the same intonation. His smirk widens at Q's expression.

The boy does compose himself remarkably rapidly, he'll give him that. "Yes, well, it would still be nice if you'd give me all of your attention," he says haughtily, pushing his glasses up his nose. "So, as I was saying, the helicopter will pick you up from the safe house at 0800 hours. Any questions?"

"Who are you having lunch with?"

Q snorts and stands up, his hands busy straightening the mission documents and replacing them neatly in their file. "I hardly think that's any of your business, double-oh-seven."

Bond raises an eyebrow and rises, slowly making his way around the desk to stand in front of Q. "Would you like it to be?"

And smoothly, suavely, almost like a predator, he slides across the invisible fault line of Q's personal space.

The effect is almost instantaneous - Q's expression goes from snarky to something that almost looks like terror before Bond's foot hits the ground. His hands skitter over the table top like pale spiders, knocking the file to the floor, and he scrambles backwards, his feet nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

"Q?" Bond reaches out to touch Q's arm, to reassure him that it's okay, but this just seems to make it worse: Q recoils as if Bond's fingers are a handful of knives, his eyes wide and staring and full of -

Fear.

"Bond!" Tanner's voice cuts into their little section of desperate silence, closely followed by Tanner himself. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

Bond opens his mouth to fire back a witty retort, but doesn't quite manage it, because a) Tanner interrupts him and b) his throat has suddenly become inexplicably dry.

"Actually, I have a very good idea of what you're doing. Let's see what Mallor - _M_ has to say about it. Come on."

Bond thinks about refusing, but then he looks back and sees Q leaning against a filing cabinet, chest heaving with each laboured breath, and he holds his tongue and follows Tanner.

Mallory tells him all he knows, and he finally understands why no one gets within a foot of Q. And, for the first time, James Bond feels guilty about flirting with someone.

* * *

 

 

He doesn't apologise, not exactly, but when Q comes into work the next day there's a case shaped exactly like the last set of equipment he gave Bond waiting for him on his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five is coming. Definitely.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back back back back again gain gain

He's twenty-four when he loses his first agent.

The official report doesn't mention her name, only her number, followed by a single word, printed in harsh red capitals like a death warrant.

DECEASED.

009 was shot down on the roof of the Iranian Embassy in Turkmenistan by an unnamed sniper whose hands shook just a little too much.

Emily Fletcher died screaming.

(They never told him it would hurt.)

 

* * *

 

He's nursing his second vodka tonic when the man introduces himself. He's managed to make it to a quiet corner of the bar without touching any of the crush of humanity grinding against each other on the dance floor, and now is well on his way to getting drunk enough not to care that his tie's askew or his glasses are somewhere in the pockets of his cardigan or the comm didn't disconnect even after she went horribly silent.

The man is well-dressed, even to Q's untrained and vodka-hazed eye, and his eyes match the colour of his sky-blue tie. His teeth are white and evenly spaced, his hand warm where it brushes against Q's back when he takes the stool next to him. Q forgets his name almost as soon as he hears it, but that's all right. It's what he came here for, after all.

They don't touch on the way back to Q's flat, but the man doesn't seem to mind. He backs Q against the wall as soon as he fumbles open the door and pushes their mouths together.

This is his first kiss, Q thinks, in a detached sort of way, as the man's tongue licks into his mouth. It's not brilliant, but not unpleasant, either. He can see why people enjoy it.

Perhaps he can be fucked out of his fear.

He holds on to this belief right up until the moment the man's left hand slides down his chest and starts undoing his belt.

Q isn't exactly sure what happens next. He wakes up to the pale dawn light in his bed, the sheets twisted around his waist. He is alone, and there are bruises in the hollows of his knuckles, and someone else's blood spattering the carpet. His right foot twangs like an over-tuned violin string when he goes to put the kettle on.

This is the first time he brings someone home, and he expects it to be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next one should be up by autumn at this rate


End file.
